Flaming Pants
by blackvelvet97
Summary: Just a short oneshot in which Sherlock sets fire to John's favourite jumper...and pants.


_This is my first go at writing Sherlock and John so please tell me if they are horribly out of character._

_I don't own any of these characters! _

"It wasn't my fault."

John just stared at his flatmate and best friend.

"If you insist on wearing highly flammable material then you must be aware of the consequences that may result."

More glaring.

"They didn't suit you anyway."

One eyebrow arched, a silent challenge to continue. He radiated annoyance, but Sherlock was peeved too. This was the longest John had ever gone not speaking to him.

He should just apologise. He had known the assilant was particularly fond of fireworks, and well John really did like wooly jumpers. A toxic, yet irresistible mixture for any prolific pyromaniac with an aversion to anyone remotely linked to the consulting detective.

But a challenge was a challenge and Sherlock Holmes did not do apoligies.

"They made you look fat."

He smiled, funny how it wasn't even the jumper that went up.

"Sherlock, I lost my trousers. Literally lost them, as in, burnt off my legs. Which coincidently REALLY HURT."

John was talking. One point to Team Sherlock.

"I did tell you to watch yourself."

Sherlock picked up Skull. Skull never complained about burnt trousers.

"When was this Sherlock? Before or after he threw the grenade!?" John folded the newspaper he had been pretending to read and threw it down on the floor. He still seemed angry, Sherlock looked back at Skull. Did he really need John?

"DON'T YOU DARE!"

"What?" He feigned innocence. Skull liked it last time, he was much better company than an upset John.

"If you take the Skull on the next case again I will personally spit in each of your experiments. Lestrade laughed at me for weeks. You know they now think I'm your replacement for that...thing."

Sherlock covered Skull's non-existant ears, a look of horror crossed his face. Skull was a he, not an it. John clearly got awfully cranky when he had to walk through London in partially singed pants. He made a mental note to hide his experiments should it happen again...just in case.

"You were mad at me, Skull wasn't. It made logical sense."

"You interogated a suspect with it!" John threw his hands in the air and jumped up. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and growled.

"HIM, John, HIM! Skull has feelings too!" They glared at each other for a few moments more before John huffed his way to the kitchen.

"Sod this, I need a cup of tea."

Sherlock was still protectively cradling Skull, softly murmuring compliments about the shinyness of his head when John came back in.

"Oh for God's sake put it down. You look like a love struck puppy." John placed his cup of tea on the coffee table, and shook his head.

"How silly John, I look nothing like a puppy. I'm considerably taller. Oh and HE is still upset, so no I will not put HIM down."

John buried his face in his hands. "God you are unbelievable. Its genuinely like dealing with a toddler."

"John, now you really are being stupid. I am clearly a grown man." Sherlock smiled, whilst Skull was always on his side, he really did like teasing John.

"Sherlock, it was an expression..." he looked up to see the consulting detective smirking at him, having reliquished control of the human skull. "Oh you bastard."

"I was merely pointing out the flaws in your reasoning. No to be rude." Sherlock leaned forward and stole John's tea. He started sipping it, his face a perfect mirror of hurt and upset.

"No Sherlock, don't twist this one on me. I have scorch marks...DOWN THERE. I am perfectly entitled to be a bit upset."

John pointed at him and motioned down below. Sherlock tried very hard to keep a straight face. But really, at such a statement it would be borderline cruel not to smirk just a little. John noticed the slight widening if his already pronounced grin.

"You try having your boxers on fire, and in front of Anderson too. Wouldn't be too funny then...arsehole."

He knew he would probably get a punch in the face for his next statement, but it simply had to be said.

"If I recall correctly, it was your..."

"Finish that sentence and I will throw Skull in the Thames."

Sherlock gasped. He wouldn't dare.

John smiled and gave his most serious expression he could muster.

"Watch me."

Holmes conceeded defeat. Skull couldn't be hidden away in a dark corner of the flat. The mantelpiece was his home, and he needed him there to listen when John fell asleep out of exhaustion. And the other times he left, like work and eating food, and dates.

The boring stuff.

Why John even bothered with women was beyond him, only Molly was even remotely bearable but even at the best of times she was inherently dull.

"Sherlock are you even listening to me?"

John had been talking?

"Of course I have, most informative. Now, Lestrade has a new case, he'll text me in around 7 minutes so grab your coat."

Watson ran his fingers through his hair and ground his teeth-something he only ever did when someone, namely Sherlock, had really annoyed him.

"I said, where is my jumper? The one I wore when you almost got me blown up and burnt to death. Which actually resulted in burnt flesh and loss of trousers-you moron. Hear me this time?"

"..."

Sherlock suddenly became intensely focussed on his phone screen, and the wall, and really anywhere away from the mother of all death glares that was currently being dished out.

He had forgotten all about the jumper.

"Sherlock?" Hissed John.

He reached for his violin, maybe playing it would mean John would go away. Then they could go on the case and things would be fine. Honestly, why did people get so sentimentally attached to items of clothing. It was plain stupid.

"What have you done with it!?"

John grabbed the violin bow and waved it like a sword. The rush of emotion would indicate it was indeed his favourite jumper, which meant he should be very worried...considering what happened to it.

He could always bash John over the head with his violin and escape down the stairs, or maybe just distract him until Mrs Hudson returned.

But Sherlock was no coward. He placed the violin back in its case and swiped the bow from his friend. He then turned stoically and summed up what had happened with the utmost seriousness.

"I burnt it."

John stared at him.

"What?"

Sherlock had heard that shock often made the mind play tricks on itself, so he spoke slower this time.

"I...burnt...it."

John stared a little longer then gestured wildly about the room.

"Why?!"

This would be the killer, either John would accept it or he would be dead within the hour.

"It offended me."

John stared incredulously.

"My jumper offended you?" He whispered disbelievingly.

Sherlock shrugged.

"How?"

John looked like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. Sherlock was just waiting for the snap, the anger and the right hook. He waited then sighed.

"It was a bad colour" muttered Sherlock.

They looked at each other, various reactions and plans running through their heads.

John spoke first.

"It was sort of depressing."

The two men burst out laughing.

John collasped to the floor, clutching his stomach and muttering breathy comments about fireworks and burnt snorted together, breathless in the sheer happiness of the moment. Sherlock hiccuped, entirely lost in would never find a friend like this again.

The phone buzzed.

"Taxi?" He asked between hiccups and snorted giggles.

John just nodded and smiled at him.

No, he would never find another friend like this.

Fin~

_Reviews make my day_

_Blackvelvet97_

_Xx_


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